


Make a Mess of Me

by WhatEvenAmI



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidents, Cuddling & Snuggling, Diapers, Hurt/Comfort, Incontinence, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship Negotiation, Shame, Sharing a Bed, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-06 23:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11611167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatEvenAmI/pseuds/WhatEvenAmI
Summary: Bucky sighs out a shaky breath. He leans into Steve, rests his head on his shoulder. "Sorry.""Don't be sorry," Steve puts an arm around him, "It's not your fault. None of it. We'll figure this out, Buck."Bucky's having a hard time believing he's worthy of Steve with all his issues. Steve is determined to convince him otherwise, no matter how long it takes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OMOWatcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OMOWatcher/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Only One That Needs to Know](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11553234) by [Lauralot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot). 



> Very belated/early birthday gift for OMOWatcher. Because I promised her a fic for her birthday last year and am just now writing it this year. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> If you haven't read Lauralot's story before this one, this won't make a whole lot of sense. And you should also go read that right now because it's wonderful.

**Make love with the lights on, baby**  
**Tell me what you see**  
**Clear the bed to lie on, darlin'**  
**Make a mess of me**  
**Here's my dress to try on, baby**  
**let me be your man**  
**I will call you pretty, darlin'**  
**Tell me what I am**

-The Pierces, _Lights On_

The day after Steve finds out, he has Bucky show him the loose floorboard that he used to hide his diapers. He holds Bucky's hand and tells him they'll fix it together.

What actually happens is that he fixes the floorboard while Bucky paces around the bedroom, shaking and trying to apologize. He damaged Steve's home to hide his own issues, and even though Steve keeps promising he's not angry, Bucky can't help calling up the ghosts of all his old handlers, the things they would have said about this.

Steve hauls the trash bag full of Bucky's old diapers out of its hiding place beneath the loose floorboard and Bucky's stomach quivers. The way Steve looks at him as he handles the thing is enough to shrivel him up on the spot. The bag reeks, and Bucky can imagine the smell hanging between them like a tangible thing.

"I'll take that out," he manages, his voice coming out so small, and Steve looks at him again with that same terrible look on his face. It's not anger. It's—Bucky can help but think it's disgust, disappointment. His face burns as their gaze meets over the bag of Bucky's filth, brought out into the open.

"It's okay, Bucky," Steve says for maybe the fiftieth time since he found out, his voice so soft. "I'm not mad at you."

Bucky nods, feeling a pathetic flood of relief that Steve's been so kind about all of this. "I—okay," he manages to say, staring down at his trembling hands.

"I'm really more mad at myself," Steve says, and that's unexpected. Bucky startles a little; how could Steve possibly blame himself for any of this? "I'm sorry I didn't know how to help you sooner, Bucky. I'm sorry you felt like you had to hide this. I wouldn't have been mad. But I didn't do enough to make sure you knew that."

Bucky's eyes sting a little. "It's not your fault I'm so fucked up, Steve," he says, a little hoarsely. "I didn't think. I just—"

"You were scared," Steve says, fitting the floorboard back into place. "I knew, in the beginning. But I didn't talk to you about it. I didn't want to make you feel worse—I could tell you already felt awful. I didn't want to embarrass you, or make a big deal out of it. But I should have told you—"

"Steve." Bucky sits down on the bed, pinching at the bridge of his nose to dry his eyes, "Stop blaming yourself for not knowing what to do all of the time. You've been so good to me. I just—with everything from before—I never told you any of that. How were you supposed to know?"

Steve had been inspecting the floor for visible damage, but now he pauses, looking at Bucky a little too intensely for Bucky's liking. He can't hold Steve's gaze. "Bucky," he says slowly, like he's thinking very carefully about what to say, "did anyone hurt you over this, before?"

Feelings and images flash through Bucky's mind. He's not sure whether it's a blessing or a curse that he's regaining more and more of his memories. He can understand, at least, where his panic is coming from, his shame and anger and sorrow. In the beginning these these feelings overtook him without warning, and he almost never knew why. But the memories only bring that much more shame and humiliation—his cheeks flush hot as he remembers laying on his back to be changed, like a baby, and the handlers who laughed as they commented on it. He remembers one team that used to rock-paper-scissors over who had to handle diaper duty. He remembers that often the task was given to an agent who'd fucked up a mission or gotten into hot water back on base. 

He remembers far worse things as well. Being left in his mess for hours and hours. Being slapped, kicked, his face shoved roughly into— 

"Buck?" Steve asks softly, and he realizes he's shaking his head, hands covering his face. "It's okay. You don't have to talk about it."

Bucky nods, and suddenly there's a hand on his shoulder, warm and bracing. He's not with them anymore. He's here, with Steve, and Steve told him last night that it wasn't a big deal and he didn't care about the accidents. He didn't get mad when Bucky pissed all over him. Not when Bucky told him he might never regain control of himself. He still loves Bucky. He _promised._

No one ever bothered to reassure him like that before. No one told him, when he was with HYDRA, that it wasn't his fault. You don't need to reassure a machine about what's going on with it.

Bucky sighs out a shaky breath. He leans into Steve, rests his head on his shoulder. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Steve puts an arm around him, "It's not your fault. None of it. We'll figure this out, Buck. We can go to a doctor and figure out—oh, Bucky, no," he says as Bucky flinches, "Not that kind of doctor. I remember—but it might help to see a specialist."

Bucky's shaking his head frantically. He can't think straight, his head full of technicians in lab coats with their shiny sharp tools and their clipboards. Thinking of someone writing down his malfunction for anyone to see.  _They wouldn't know,_ he tries to remind himself—he still has trouble remembering that handlers aren't omniscient. Can't even remember not to call everyone "handlers".

"I wouldn't let them do anything you didn't want," Steve's still talking, so earnest and gentle no matter how difficult Bucky is. He should go, for Steve, but he can't stop shaking his head. "You don't have to. I won't force you, all right? I just thought, if it'd help—you don't have to do anything you don't want to. Never again, Bucky."

Bucky knows that, he does. But even when he gets rational thoughts to come, they're not exactly better. He doesn't want to talk about this to someone who will poke and prod, who'll make him spill his weaknesses out like a gutted animal. Someone who'll examine his most intimate parts and  _know_ the filthiest truths about them. He's crying now, dampening Steve's shoulder. "I don't want a doctor, I don't want to need a doctor, I don't want this, I just want to be normal, Steve, I didn't want to be like this—"

Steve holds him and shushes him while he freaks out. He doesn't make Bucky sit in the corner or tell him to quit being a baby. He just keeps hugging him and makes soothing little noises, whispering into his hair. Once Bucky's managed to stop the tears, Steve finds a blanket to wrap around him, goes to get him a glass of water. He takes out the bag of used diapers and doesn't comment on its contents. Bucky draws the blanket tighter around his shoulders and wipes at his eyes. He feels eviscerated, now that Steve knows, and raw and vulnerable and scared. But relieved, too. There's no more hiding. No more fear. The worst has happened and he hasn't been thrown into the street with the other trash and filth. Maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.

When Steve comes back, he sits on the bed with Bucky and pulls him close. "I'm going to do the best I can to help you, Bucky," he says, "I promise you that. I didn't know, before. I didn't know how to help. But I want you to know that you're safe here. I just want to make you feel safe."

Bucky buries his face in Steve's shoulder and nods, overwhelmed with relief. Steve knows the worst of it and still he thinks Bucky's worth his comfort and reassurances. He's worth being made to feel  _safe._

Bucky's still shaking, but not from fear. He's overwhelmed with wonder at Steve's estimation of his worth. He gives Steve a squeeze and gets one in return.

_Safe._


	2. Chapter 2

After Steve's fixed the floorboard, he spends a while laying with Bucky, entwined on the bed wrapped in the blanket he gave him, planting soft kisses all over his face and tracing patterns against his chest. He's almost gotten him completely relaxed when he says, "Bucky, I'm not sure if you'll love hearing this, but I think we should wait on having sex for now."

Bucky's stomach lurches. He's disgusted Steve after all. Steve doesn't want him that way, not anymore, Bucky already pissed on him and—

—and last night he promised he still loved him, not to mention that he sucked him off in the shower till his eyes just about rolled back in his head. Bucky forces himself to take a deep breath and think about what his therapist has said about his self-doubt and his panic. When he's scared, he tends to forget that the things his former captors taught him don't apply anymore. It happens for a reason, she says, and he should try not to get frustrated with himself for it. For years he had good reason to be scared, and that imprinted on his mind. While he was with HYDRA it helped him to survive, but it also caused a lot of stress.

"How come?" he asks when he thinks he can speak steadily. He tries not to feel rejected. This is  _Steve,_ who sat through joint therapy with him and listened to him cry about being beaten and gang-raped so that one day they might possibly be able to fuck without Bucky freaking out. 

"I'm not mad," Steve says for the millionth time, squeezing Bucky's shoulder, "But when we decided we were ready to try, you still hadn't felt safe to tell me about that. Was your plan to just keep hiding it forever? Bucky, I want to be sure that you feel one hundred percent safe with me, because I don't want to feel like I'm the one making you unsafe. It would kill me, to hurt you in any of the ways they did. And anyway, what happened last night could happen again." Bucky's face flushes hot at the reminder. "We need to make sure we're ready for that—I want to get to the point where you feel safe even if it does."

Bucky nods, still a little hot in the face. If he's honest, now that he thinks about it, he's more than a little relieved. Steve's right; he's not ready to have sex, not after last night. He can't stop envisioning the hot piss splattering down into Steve's lap, being completely unable to stop it. He can't bear the thought of risking that again.

But he'll feel like a failure if he can't. Nicole, his therapist, has been telling him that after all he's been through he might have setbacks, and that he should be prepared for that. That he should try to tell himself it's not a failing on his part. But just for a moment, he lets himself wallow in his own self-pity. Fuck it, he can't have sex because he might piss all over himself. He can't control it at all. His first attempt at sex in more than half a century failed because he wet his pants like a toddler. Doesn't that warrant at least a little bit of wallowing?

"I don't want you blaming yourself for this, though," Steve says firmly, correctly interpreting the look on Bucky's face, "It's not your fault, what they put you through. This is something we need to talk about with Nicole, and maybe she—Bucky?"

Bucky's pulled the blanket up over his face. "Do we have to?" He blurts out.

"I won't force you," Steve says patiently, "And it wouldn't have to be right now. But I really think it'd be a good idea, Buck. She could help."

"She doesn't know," Bucky admits after a pause. "I tried to—I was freaking out. I still thought you were a handler, back when I first went to her. If I told her then you'd know, I thought." They've talked about this, his paranoia and the way it still overtakes him sometimes. "I didn't drink in the daytime. I was careful on days I had therapy. And then I bought diapers and I could hide it, but I just _couldn't_ —"

"Bucky." Steve sounds so wounded. Bucky knew he would be, to hear about everything he'd done to himself trying to cover this up.

"I felt _disgusting_ , Steve! I thought—everything I knew by then, it was feeling so pathetic and gross. Would you want people to know, if it were you?"

Steve's silent for a moment, thinking, and just at that moment Bucky feels heat flooding in his groin, swelling the padding between his legs. He flinches, forgetting again that Steve can't tell, and between the involuntary motion and the renewed flush in his face he can't imagine he hasn't given himself away. If he has, though, Steve doesn't mention it, only strokes his hand down Bucky's back to soothe him.

After a few moments' thought, he says, "I know it's hard. And I won't make you talk about this to Nicole if you don't want to. I won't make you do anything, but I really think it'd be a good idea.

The last few trickles of heat are still dripping out, and he can't imagine ever feeling okay talking about this. He's about to shake his head, and then he remembers. "But we can't have sex if we don't?"

"Well," Steve thinks for a minute. His fingers are in Bucky's hair, light and reassuring. "I don't want it to be like something I'm holding over your head. But remember how Nicole told us we'd both need boundaries, not just you? I think this is one of mine. I can't risk hurting you. And I can't be trying to touch you like that while I'm worried you don't feel safe with me."

"I do feel safe!" Bucky can't stand the thought that he's made Steve torture himself like this. "Last night, when you were touching me—that was the first time in so fucking long that I felt okay with myself. I felt  _good. You_ were good." He sighs. He was so stupid; how could it have not occurred to him that this might happen? Now he's gone and hurt Steve. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not angry," Steve says yet again. "Bucky, really, I'm not. This isn't a punishment. It's not something I'd ever hold over your head."

"I'm mad at myself," Bucky mutters, "for being an idiot." He thinks about last night and how good Steve made it for him. How gentle he was, his hands pausing for permission, how breathtaking it had felt to rediscover his own sense of desire. How much he wanted it, how hard he worked for it, how he cried talking about all the HYDRA cocks forced into him and the million different ways they'd made his body not his own, all for this. He thinks about reclaiming it, or about giving it all up now just because he can't control his stupid bladder.

"Fine," he mutters, "We'll tell Nicole. But, Steve?"

"Yeah, Buck?"

"Could you...?" He can't help thinking she'll ask him why the hell he didn't tell her about this in all the time he's been seeing her. That she'll say he was dishonest to Steve. Or a million other awful things. "Could you tell her? I can't say it."

"It's okay, Buck." Steve's hand strokes through his hair again and again. "It's all right. I'll tell her."

"Thanks." Bucky's voice comes out so small. He nestles himself tighter against Steve.

"Of course. Now, why don't we go and make something to eat? I think we've had enough of these tough conversations for today, don't you?"

Bucky nods gratefully. As he moves to get up he becomes aware once again of the soaked padding against his skin. "Steve?" he fidgets a little, staring at his hands. "Can you go ahead? I, I need to—"

"Oh—of course, I didn't realize. I didn't mean to keep you from—go ahead, Bucky." Apparently he wasn't as obvious as he'd thought he was, or Steve just took his flinching for panic. Bucky shuffles awkwardly to the closet, feeling sure that his stiff-legged movement displays exactly what's happened down below. At least burying his head in his closet to root around for his supply of diapers means he doesn't have to meet Steve's gaze.

True to his word, though, Steve doesn't mention it, only asks if Bucky's in the mood for omelets. Bucky mumbles an affirmative. When he hears the door close behind him, he flinches again, even though Steve didn't shut it particularly hard.

He thinks it might take him a while to get used to this being-safe thing.


	3. Chapter 3

"I've been wondering about half-giants," Bucky says, suddenly and frenetically, on the ride over to his therapist's office.

"What?" Steve says. 

"From Harry Potter. Last night." They'd marathonned the movies, trying to take Bucky's mind off today. They've gotten to the fifth one, and they're planning to watch the rest of them tonight. "If you think about the logistics, a giant would have to, you know—with a human."

"I hadn't thought of that." Steve flicks his turn signal and glances over at Bucky. "And I was perfectly happy not thinking about it." He gives Bucky a little smirk to let him know he's teasing. They've gotten a lot better about that, Bucky not constantly assuming he's made Steve upset, Steve learning to give Bucky some signal that he hasn't said anything really awful.

Bucky leans back in his seat and trails his hand out the car window to catch the breeze, trying to act like his stomach isn't churning with nerves. He had a panic attack trying to get in the car earlier, so it's not like Steve will buy it, but he does what he can to salvage what's left of his pride.

"I'm just saying, for Hagrid to ask if it was the lady's mom or her dad—either way, it's pretty questionable. If it was a human guy he'd have to be hung like a mammoth, and if the human was a woman...well." 

"And the childbirth, too." Steve goes along with it, probably to keep Bucky from hyperventilating again. "Yeah, they didn't really cover that in the books."

They're in the same neighborhood as Nicole's office and Bucky closes his mouth, thinking he might expel his breakfast if he tries to speak again. They're turning onto her street. They're getting closer to her building. Bucky slumps as far down into his seat as he can go and wiggles his hand in the breeze, trying not to think, to see. But he can still feel the car slowing down as they turn into the parking lot of the mental health services office.

Steve's talking to Bucky in a soothing voice as he circles the lot. "It's all right, Bucky. We don't have to do this today."

"Like I'll be able to think of anything else in the session." Bucky grits his teeth. "I gotta get this over with, Steve. I'll just be a wreck, knowing it's coming and—oh, _God._ " The car's come to a stop. Steve's out and running to Bucky's side in a heartbeat, pulling open the door. For a second Bucky thinks of locking it and curling up in the seat and hiding. His face flushes at the urge. He doesn't lock the door.

Steve's unbuckling his belt, helping him out of the seat. "What's the matter, Buck? It'll be okay."

"She'll be so mad," he wheezes, leaning heavily on Steve as he tries to stand up. He feels like his chest is being crushed, and he can barely draw breath to say what's wrong. "I was—so stupid—I should have told—I'll be in trouble—" he gets out as he gasps for air.

"You won't," Steve says firmly. "You're not with HYDRA right now. You get to choose what you share, and when you're ready to share it. She can give you advice, Bucky, but she won't punish you. And neither will I. That's not how things are now."

Bucky clings to his arm, steadying and firm. Steve shushes him and keeps telling him to try and breathe. "But what if she's mad at me?" Bucky manages once the pressure on his lungs has eased somewhat.

"She won't be," Steve says firmly. "Or at least—she isn't going to hurt you. Come on. You think you can get to the building? It's okay if you can't. We've got plenty of time." Steve had suggested leaving early when Bucky first started hyperventilating this morning, in case it took him a while to be ready. "Take a breath, okay? Good. This is Nicole. You like her. You trust her, right? She's helped you a lot."

"Yeah." Bucky lets Steve guide him toward the building. "That's why I don't want her to be mad."

"Oh, Bucky." Steve's arm is around his shoulders. "No matter how this goes, she won't throw you out or give up on you. And neither will I, I promise."

"Okay." Bucky makes his legs cooperate, shaky as they are, and allows Steve to maneuver him into the building and deposit him into a chair in the office waiting room. 

At home, Steve had suggested that Bucky try to use the bathroom before they go, so that he won't have an accident while they're out. Bucky had tried and tried to find the right muscle, sitting on the toilet and pushing with no result, only to wet himself minutes before they were about to head out the door. He can't control it at all, and he'd almost cried to see Steve fully realize that. He's not sure what's worse, the panic he'd felt at having to hide it or the shame that washes through him at the thought that Steve knows everything.

Steve rubs his back now, slow and calming, and Bucky manages to get in a full breath for the first time since they parked the car. Of course Nicole won't punish him. She doesn't have that kind of authority, this isn't HYDRA, the worst thing she can do is tell Bucky he should have gotten help sooner. 

That doesn't stop his stomach from clenching when she steps out of her office to greet him. She's pretty, tall and graceful, with dark skin and an easygoing smile. She always gives Bucky that smile when he first steps into her office, and it always sets him at ease. 

Then she takes her seat and she's all business, staring intently at him through her red-framed glasses. "I see we have Steve attending our session today."

"We do." Steve confirms, guiding Bucky down to the soft white couch across from her. He sinks down into it and nestles himself against Steve without really thinking. He can tell Nicole's mentally taking note of that; hiding his face in Steve's shoulder is a recent habit of his. They started out tentatively sitting at opposite ends of the couch like a teenage couple whose parents are in the room. They've gotten closer and closer together in the time since, and eventually Bucky just gave into the urge to lean over onto Steve when he was starting to get freaked out.

"All right, so what brings you in here today, Steve? A relationship matter?"

"Well— " Steve begins, and Bucky's heart begins to race like he's staring down the edge of a cliff. "Sort of. It is, but it's more than that for Bucky. And—I'm not sure how to say all of this, but he did ask me to tell you. It's something he has a hard time talking about."

"All right. Hey, Bucky." She waits until he's raised his head from Steve's shoulder to look at her. "Is this correct? You want him to talk to me about a personal matter of yours?"

She's not accusing, Bucky realizes after a terrible heartbeat, she's asking permission. She wants consent to hear his secret. He can control how this session goes. Nicole and Steve, they'll listen to him. If he needs them to stop, they'll stop.

He reaches for Steve's arm, squeezes onto it, and nods.

"Bucky's been having this issue—I thought it had stopped. I knew it was happening, but he thought he had to hide it." Bucky's face is slumped back against Steve's shoulder. It's easier to stare at the fabric of Steve's jeans than look at Nicole. Her face is never cold or disgusted or angry, but he can't help expecting it. Steve's hesitating, thinking of the right way to say what needs to be said, and the whole time Bucky's stomach is writhing and sick. "He was having accidents—wetting himself. I thought it was because he was scared." The softness in his voice makes Bucky want to cry and tell him everything, but the wounded undertone is still there, and guilt squirms through him. "He started wearing protection. He thought he had to hide it—he went to extreme lengths to keep me from finding out. And I was concerned because after everything, he thought I'd hate him for it."

"It sounds like this isn't just Bucky's issue, then," Nicole says after a pause. Her voice isn't hard. She hasn't uttered a word of disgust. Bucky still feels uncomfortably exposed, like a reeking puddle of bodily waste sprawled out on the couch. But when he makes himself glance up at Nicole, she meets his gaze evenly. He's suddenly shaking with relief instead of fear. He's such an  _idiot,_ knowing that he could have told her all this months ago and he's been sneaking around in terror for nothing. 

"I don't want to make it all about me," Steve says slowly, "He's really struggling with this. But—"

"But it's a relationship consisting of two people who each have their own needs," Nicole says, and Bucky can feel the relief in the way that Steve's tensed shoulders relax. He hates that he's made Steve torture himself with this. He feels revolting once again. But he interrupts the pattern of self-loathing, like Nicole's taught him a hundred times before. He was scared. He has trauma and paranoia and he's still working on staying grounded in reality. He and Steve can fix this. That's why they're here.

"It's just—after all this time, he thought I wouldn't love him. He was just going to keep hiding this because he was afraid of what I'd do. That's what kills me. I only found out because we tried to have sex and he had an accident." Steve gives Bucky's shoulders a squeeze like he knows how humiliating it is for another living soul to know about that. "He's incontinent—I don't know what they did to him. He told me he doesn't feel it—it just happens. I don't care, I still love him, and I just really, really wish he'd known that from the beginning—I would have brought it up with him if I knew."

"There's a difference between looking back on the past to learn from it and dwelling on things you can't change," Nicole says, calmly and without accusation. "It seems that you've been doing the best you can with the information that you have—but I'd like to come back to that. Right now I want to check in with Bucky."

Bucky raises his head and manages to meet her gaze. He's a little red, though she doesn't say a word about how he's been hiding in Steve's shoulder like a shy child. He tries to make himself speak, but he doesn't know what to say or how to say it. Finally he shrugs and says a hoarse, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"You don't have to be sorry for the things you choose to disclose or keep to yourself with me," she says, "But it seems like this is something that _Steve_ needed to know. The problem isn't that you didn't tell me about this. The problem is, from what I can tell, you told Steve you were ready for sex and you weren't. That's concerning—it affects you and it affects him."

Bucky nods and takes a shaky breath. This, he can take. Her voice is somewhat gentle now, but still businesslike and no-nonsense. She's not harping on about his brokenness. She's telling him what he did wrong so he can fix it. He still feels as small as he did when she first did this, but as she's told him, she doesn't do it to make him feel low. She does it to help him understand what he could do better in the future. "I really thought I was ready," he admits, "I'm sorry."

"It's just—Buck. When it happened, you were kind of freaking out, and I didn't know how to help you. If you'd just told me, I wouldn't have been mad. I know you didn't know that, and I wish I'd done something to make sure you did. But it felt terrible knowing that you were scared and things had gone wrong and I didn't know how to help. That's why I wanted to have this session—so we can figure out how to handle it next time."

Bucky does feel a little low now, knowing that Steve's so sure there'll be a repeat of Bucky pissing helplessly all over him. The bitch of it is, he's probably right.

"I wouldn't freak out like that, now that I know. It's really—Steve, it's not your fault I didn't know it was safe. You know how I get, I forget things from HYDRA aren't the same as now. And you've been so good—you're the main reason it's not worse. You and Nicole both."

Nicole's scrawling in her notebook, something she almost never does because she knows it makes Bucky paranoid. "I'm making a note to come back to later," she says, catching his look, "since we have a lot to discuss. You can see what I wrote if you want. You mentioned that you forget things weren't like before—I wanted to ask if you'd experienced this problem during your time with HYDRA, and if you had a history of being punished for it."

Bucky feels exposed again, his filth presented for them both to see. He's flushing deeply, swamped in memories he tries to push away. Hands groping his ass to check if he was wet. A loud argument about who had to change the asset while he stood miserably by trying not to react. That awful time when—

"Bucky?" Steve's rubbing his shoulder. He's here. He's here and it'll never happen again but he can never get rid of the goddamned memories. They age like wine—more shameful with context. Bucky almost wishes he could go back to the chair just to get rid of the full, humiliating understanding of what happened to him.

"Yes," Bucky mutters. "Yeah, sometimes—it wasn't always. Mostly they just didn't care. Can—can we not talk about this just now?"

Steve's arm tightens around his shoulder, protective and steady. For a moment Bucky just gives in to his desire to hide and buried his face in Steve's side so hard that all that exists is the rise of his breath and the smell of his deodorant.

He can still hear Nicole writing on her notepad. _Damn_ that notepad. Bucky shakes and squeezes his eyes shut, breathes in the smell of Steve, and lets his warmth remind him that he doesn't have to be treated like that again. HYDRA doesn't determine how he lives his life now, he thinks. It's what he'd told himself in the shower after their failed first attempt at sex, just before Steve stepped under the spray and kissed him and showed him their night didn't have to be over. 

They give him a couple minutes to recover, and for a few minutes there's silence in the room. Steve strokes Bucky's back, gently and rhythmically. Eventually he says, "I'm okay. Sorry, where were we, before..."

"Steve wanted to know how he could help you if the incident reoccurred," Nicole reminds him gently. "I think that's something you could think about, between this session and the next."

"Yeah," Bucky considers, turning to Steve. "You were pretty great, actually, the other night. When you washed my hair and, uh—you got in the shower with me and told me everything didn't have to be ruined. And—you know, just you being with me helps. If you make me feel like it's not—disgusting to touch me. Not even in a sex kind of way, just, you know...it felt really nice, you shampooing my hair. Just be with me and touch me. Tell me I'm not gross."

"Of course you're not." Steve gives him another squeeze. "I think I can do that."

"So there's a start," Nicole says, "Although, Bucky, you seem to have some deeply rooted feelings of self-disgust and I think at some point it would be a good idea to address that. Steve can help—telling you he doesn't think you're gross—and given that this tends to be a sensitive issue for those who suffer it, I do think it will be good for you to have Steve's support. But I also think you may have some self-confidence issues that you've got to work on, on your own. You can choose to talk about it in our individual sessions or not, but I do encourage you to start that work on your own self-image. And I might also encourage you to see a doctor. I could even look into some specialists for you. I know you and doctors don't really have the best history, but I really do encourage it. A doctor who specializes in this kind of thing will have more resources to offer than myself—I'm familiar with continence issues caused by stress, but this sounds like a different medical issue and I think there are professionals better equipped to help you understand what's going on with your body. Do you think that would be helpful?"

Bucky shrugs uncomfortably. He knows that Nicole's suggestions tend to be reasonable. More often than not, she's right, but Bucky's convinced this issue is here to stay. It'd be worth it to put himself through the anxiety and the lab coats and the notepads and the clinical smell if there was some chance they could make his body work again, but it's been like this for decades and it hasn't gone away in the year or so he's had without his brain being drugged up and fried. To go through all that, only to hear he's irreparably broken after all...he doesn't know if he can face that.

"Actually," Steve says when Bucky looks nervously at him. "I'd been thinking. If Bucky does need to see a doctor, I might have one of Stark's people do it. In the tower, so we could make sure the environment wasn't like HYDRA. I don't think a regular doctor has all that much expertise in what he's been put through."

"That's one idea," Nicole agrees, "Have you discussed this with Mr. Stark?"

"Not yet," Steve says, "I was going to ask Bucky..."

They're looking at him. It takes him a moment to realize they want to know if he'll go. "I'll...think about it, okay?"

"All right, Bucky. But whether or not you do choose to see a professional, I want you to understand something about this issue," Nicole says, "It's not your fault, and you're not alone."

Bucky trembles with emotion. So many people were disgusted with him. He spent so long being disgusted with himself...

"In stress and trauma alone, continence issues aren't uncommon, and then there are the many different medical reasons people struggle with incontinence, and shame and embarrassment frequently accompany it. If you do go to a doctor, I bet they could give you some statistics on how many adults will deal with this condition in their lifetime. There are many different reasons behind it—and as with those conditions, yours is out of your control. You can feel how you feel about that, but you should know that it is not your fault."

Bucky takes that in for a minute. He'd never given much thought to the other people who go to drugstores and buy their diapers and try not to look the cashier in the eye. Others are scared to leave the house. And they have public accidents and get on with their lives. His heart races at the thought that maybe he's not living out some horrible, filthy secret. 

For the second time that day, Bucky cries.

*

On the way home, they're quiet for a bit. Bucky likes to have some time to decompress after therapy. Especially after a session where they discussed this particular issue at length. When he'd finally managed to stop crying, Nicole had asked him to talk a bit about his feelings of shame and fear, and what had driven him to conceal the problem so desperately. He'd confessed all the things he'd done, in those months before he bought the diapers, to deal with his incontinence. Those times were not enjoyable to revisit.

Bucky looks up and realizes they're not taking the familiar route from the mental health office to Steve's apartment. He's tired and overwhelmed, and he just wants to go home and hide. "Where are we going?"

"Just to get a new shower curtain," Steve says, "Sorry, Buck. I forgot to tell you I was thinking of grabbing one on the way home."

Because Bucky half-destroyed theirs when he was freaking out the other night. Steve's tactful enough not to mention that part, but Bucky's skin prickles with shame anyway. "Okay."

"I was also thinking." Steve hesitates and side-glances at Bucky, which means there's only one thing this could be about. "Back when I was doing all that research on bedwetting issues, I found something—I looked for it again last night, online. They have it at Bed Bath and Beyond."

"Do we have to buy it in public?" Bucky asks lowly, staring out the window. 

"We don't have to, it'd just be quicker," Steve says reassuringly, "But it's really subtle, Bucky. It's just a big pad that looks like a blanket. No one would know. I was just thinking, you know, we could get a couple for our beds. Then you wouldn't have to worry, you know—when we had sex. If anything happens, you just throw it off the bed and wash it later."

"Oh." Bucky's still a little flushed, hating that he takes all this effort. But—Steve hasn't shown any sign of rejecting him. Not any. And he's gone out of his way to make Bucky comfortable. He's gone to extra lengths to find ways for them to be intimate, even with this issue lying between them. 

That means at some point, Steve does plan to try to have sex again. And Steve must really, really want him, to do all that research and buy all this stuff, to help keep it subtle because Bucky couldn't bear it any other way. Bucky's throat aches a little, and he's too embarrassed to find the words to thank Steve, but he reaches over for him and Steve's hand briefly entwines with his.

And it turns out Steve's right in that the pads are subtle. It takes them a while to navigate the store and find the pads—the whole time Bucky praying Steve won't take up any of the aggressively friendly sales associates on their offers for assistance—but Steve waves them all aside and eventually they do find what they're looking for. And they really do look just like blankets, or they will once they're out of the packaging. For the beds, they decide on a soft, deep blue, and Steve adds a few smaller pads into the cart. "For the couch or the armchair, if we tried it there," he explains in an undertone. Bucky's still fairly mortified to have all those pads in the cart, so Steve tells him to throw in a bunch of random crap to cover them. They go on a bit of a shopping spree, then, and Bucky realizes he doesn't think he's ever seen Steve decorate his apartment with anything purely self-indulgent and nonfunctional.

So of course he throws in the most ludicrous home-decor stuff he can find, a woodsy-themed wastepaper basket and a ridiculous seashell soap pump for the bathroom, a fragmented decorative mirror, a mural of pastel watercolor mushrooms, a brightly-colored kitchen mat patterned with ladybugs and butterflies. Steve keeps protesting Bucky's choices, but he's laughing a little, so Bucky keeps on throwing random shit in their cart. He likes being able to make Steve smile. 

"Really, Buck?" Steve says when Bucky finds a toilet paper holder in the shape of a bear, with its arms outstretched to hold out the roll. Bucky gives him a little smirk, and the bear goes in the cart. 

He smirks again when they get to the shower curtains. "Oh, no. Bucky, no," Steve says when he sees.

"This is perfect, though," Bucky says, picking up the curtain patterned with cute little cartoon Avengers. "Steve, I think this is the one. It goes with our new toilet-paper holder."

"You're the worst," Steve informs him, but he's smiling in a way that makes Bucky smile too, ducking his head. There are variations in the Avengers pattern, Bucky sees upon closer inspection. Most of the Steves are preparing to throw their little shields, the Hulks are punching outward with their big green fists, the Iron Men are blasting off with one arm thrust into the air. One of the Steves, however, is balancing a pile of meatball-topped spaghetti on his shield like a dinner plate. There's a very human Bruce Banner looking very confused as he sits in the Hulk's giant purple pants. On the other side he finds an Iron Man holding a mirror, applying makeup to his faceplate, and a Hawkeye all tangled up in his bow, one arm sticking out clutching an arrow.

Bucky is in love with this thing. "We need this, Steve."

Steve sighs in mock defeat. "Put it in the cart, you ass." Bucky grins and Steve gives him a sappy look. "The things I do to see that smile."

When Steve goes to pay for all their stuff, Bucky hangs back by a display of porch chairs. He still can't bring himself to be seen buying the mattress pads, but Steve tells him that's all right. It's while Bucky's pretending to be very interested in a spiderweb chair that he's brought harshly back to reality as warmth begins to flood his groin. Of course he can't go anywhere and have a good time without being reminded that he'd broken. It's happened before, in public places, and while he logically knows no one can tell, he still finds himself shuffling between the chairs, the closest he can come to hiding without drawing attention to himself.

He's pretty used to the feeling of the diaper growing warm and heavy between his thighs, its added bulk making him move a bit awkwardly. He wonders if it's normal to practice walking like this at home so that no one can tell he's pissed himself. But if Steve can tell what happened, he doesn't react at all. Bucky can't imagine he can't smell it—his own enhanced senses had him paranoid, for a while, that everyone would know what he'd done. Steve has the same super-senses, but if he can smell it, his face doesn't give anything away. Once they've made it to the car, Bucky shuffling and strategically holding a shopping bag to cover his crotch just in case, he's finally able to relax. This doesn't have to ruin his day. He was having fun, teasing Steve, and they'll go home and Bucky can change and he won't have to be scared of Steve finding out. They'll hang up the new shower curtain and decorate the apartment. They'll put the blanket pads down on the beds.

And sometime—maybe not tonight, but sometime in the near future—they'll try to have sex again. And this time Bucky will take measures to try not to piss all over Steve. But even if he does, and even if it just about kills him when it happens, it won't be the end of the world. And they'll try again, and again, and eventually they'll get it right. Steve said he'll be patient with him. Bucky can try, really try, to be patient with himself too.

"Date night tonight?" he suggests, "Maybe not out or anything, just an at-home date?" Going to therapy wears him out, and sometimes he doesn't have the stamina to go out again afterwards. "We could try that egg crepe thing you found. Or takeout and a movie or something. We could watch the rest of Harry Potter."

And Steve says that sounds perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So [this](https://www.bedbathandbeyond.com/store/product/peapodmats-waterproof-bedwetting-mat-in-mauve/3312795?Keyword=bed+protector) is the style of mattress pad Steve got for his and Bucky's beds, only I imagine theirs are bigger and have a simple, loosely-spaced crosshatch pattern, making it look quiltlike at first glance. 
> 
> [This](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0059WBA4Y/ref=asc_df_B0059WBA4Y1501585200000?smid=ATVPDKIKX0DER&tag=merbethomgarbhg-20&linkCode=df0&creative=395093&creativeASIN=B0059WBA4Y&ascsubtag=209242994) is the toilet paper holder. Yes, it is a real thing, and its inclusion in this fic was inspired by a trip I took to Bed Bath & Beyond when I was shopping for college stuff years ago.
> 
> And while I was googling around looking for an image of that, I found [this](https://www.houzz.com/photos/75580586/Bear-Toilet-Paper-Holder-toilet-paper-holders). Due to my attempt at sensitively handling the subject matter of this fic, I did not write this product in, but if you think it wasn't tempting then you don't know about me and toilet humor.
> 
> I showed [Lauralot](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot) the aforementioned product while editing this chapter and she was like "Oh that's cute—OH. OH NO."
> 
> The shower curtain was made up but should definitely be a real thing. Found [this cute gem](https://www.etsy.com/listing/230307821/superhero-shower-curtains-superhero?utm_campaign=shopping_us_PrintArtShoppe_sfc_osa&utm_medium=cpc&utm_source=google&utm_custom1=0&utm_content=10722902&gclid=CjwKCAjw8IXMBRB8EiwAg9fgME6lwmgYqzLouDDSgf6R3oVdUL6nPC35ll5WoZaU6CmAxR03TPQg1hoCpPEQAvD_BwE) though!


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the day is quite enjoyable. They spend it decorating the apartment and teasing each other, and it's hard to believe that just this morning Bucky was filled with dread and hyperventilating in the car. He got through therapy and things are okay—better than okay. He's feeling tentatively buoyant, almost bold.

He sets up the toilet-paper bear in the bathroom while Steve hangs the shower curtain. "We should give this little guy a name."

Steve tugs the shower rod, checking for damage. Bucky makes a big show of admiring the little cartoons Avenging across the bathroom. "If you say so."

"I'm serious, Steve! I think we should call him Billy, after that little shit who was always picking on the little kids when we were young." Bucky's saved this up—he always does, when he gets a flash of memory. It makes Steve so happy when he remembers, and he likes to throw these little tidbits into conversation to surprise him. Sure enough, Steve grins.

"Billy Conway? I wonder whatever happened to him. He was always such an asswipe—some kids grow out of it, but he stayed an asswipe. Probably still is one, wherever he is."

 _If he's still alive,_ Bucky doesn't say. He doesn't want to do anything to make that reminiscent grin fade from Steve's face. Instead he pulls a ribbon off the box of fancy soap he found. He'd have given this to a girl, back in the day, but now he can give it to Steve. He takes the ribbon and fastens it around one of the bear's ears, tying it into a neat little bow. "There you go, Billy. You're all set."

In spite of himself, Steve's grin widens. They share a moment, just smiling at each other and reveling in being able to have this moment. Bucky's basking in the knowledge that no one else would have been able to provide this for Steve. Bucky's the only one who can ground him in both centuries. Bucky's the only one who was there. Steve's confessed, in joint therapy, how very alone he felt his first year back, how disoriented and isolated he was. He worked at getting better, at making connections and rejoining the world, but only Bucky's presence has brought back something that had never been fully alive in all the time he'd been out of the ice.

 _Bucky_ did that. Bucky made Steve feel alive again. And Sam, of course, and Nat and all the others, and joint therapy with Nicole. But Bucky did something for Steve that none of them could. His apartment was coldly practical and more or less bare, save for the record player in the corner, before Bucky got those decorations today. He'd never tried to have a relationship with anyone else; that dead part of him felt to heavy to try and thrust the burden of it on anyone else. Until Bucky came back and sat on Steve's bed and Steve told him he looked like hell.

Bucky reaches for Steve's hands and they both hold on tight. They just stand there together for a moment, reveling in the things they've reclaimed together. Steve cups the back of Bucky's head, fingers entangling in his hair, and guides him forward until their foreheads are touching. They stand together, sharing the moment in silence. Then they break apart, smiling at one another. Steve's eyes are suspiciously she and Bucky has to clear his throat before he speaks. "So...dinner?"

"Yeah." Steve ruffles Bucky's hair one last time before he lets his hand drop. "Let's get some food."

*

While they're cleaning up from dinner, Bucky's lighthearted mood persists, and he teases Steve and lets himself be teased back, whapping his ass with a dishtowel and protesting when Steve splashes water at him. He's still full of happy surprise that a day that began so horribly could end so well. He thought this would be one of the sessions where he needed to lie in bed afterwards and recover, trying to ignore Steve's furrowed brow and bitten lip as he brings him soup broth and crackers, trying to get him to eat. But he feels weirdly light, like a huge weight has been lifted off of him. He can't help feeling nervous and doubtful, though, when he allows himself to think about it too much. It feels like his buoyant mood is just too good to last. Something's going to be yanked out from under him, some problem will come up, and—

He tries to shut down that line of thought. He'd been holding up against the pressure of hiding his incontinence and dealing with the shame alone. He's borne that burden so consistently that he'd forgotten what it was like to live without it. Now that he's free of it, maybe he really can just be this happy. And maybe Steve really will keep on loving him. He promised he would, and it's Steve, and Bucky trusts Steve. So. He has to at least give this a chance.

"Steve?" he asks quietly. Steve looks up, concerned by the sudden change in Bucky's demeanor. "Can I...can I have a hug?"

He feels foolish and small, but Steve puts aside his pot of corn kernels and holds Bucky close. "What's the matter? You feeling all right?"

"Yeah. I just, you know, I get scared. I know it's stupid, it's just...this is really okay? You won't get sick of me and my—my problems, you won't—"

"Shh." Steve tightens his hold. "It's not stupid. You spent a long time dealing with this. And you were trapped with people who only wanted to use you, not take care of you. It's okay if you need to ask me these things, I'll tell you I love you whenever you need." He rubs Bucky's back. "Or whatever else you need to talk about. And I promise I could never get sick of you. You're so good, Bucky, so fucking good. You deserve to know that, too. I'll tell you whenever you need to hear it."

Bucky sighs and presses his face into Steve's shoulder, letting relief wash through him. Being called  _good_ satisfies a Soldier-esque craving somewhere inside him, even now, especially after everything that's happened these past couple days. "Thanks, Steve. I love you."

"Love you, too. Now, should we start the popcorn? You're not feeling too scared to have date night, are you? Because it's okay if you need to—"

"No, no," Bucky shakes his head and lets himself smile a little. "I definitely want to have date night."

Steve smiles, and kisses both of his cheeks before he lets him go. Bucky's smile gets bigger and his face feels warm. Next week he'll need to ask Nicole how to handle these moments of fear and doubt. Right now, though, he doesn't have to think about all the things he'll need to talk about with his shrink just to have a functional relationship. Right now all he has to do is melt some butter for the popcorn. He can do that.

They pick up their movie marathon where they left off last night. At first they just snuggle up close, Steve still concerned about Bucky's moment of fear back in the kitchen. As the movie progresses, however, Steve starts to fool around with him a little, and that makes Bucky's insides warm. They're not ready to try sex again, not yet, but that doesn't mean all the progress they've made has been erased. They can still have fun, tease and kiss each other and let their fingers roam. They end up in a wrestling match that devolves into intense pillow warfare, waged with a couple of decorative pillows Bucky chose earlier today. Eventually Steve just bear-hugs Bucky and hauls him up onto his lap, which Bucky doesn't even try to fight until Steve begins tickling him. He flails.

"You asshole," he says when Steve finally lets up, "Some of us are trying to enjoy Harry Potter, here. You have terrible movie etiquette, Steven, did you know that?"

He gets a kiss on the back of his neck and Steve's arms around him, though, so he doesn't complain too much. He settles back in Steve's lap and bitches at him until he rewinds the movie so they can watch the part they missed. Bucky takes his cultural catching-up very seriously. Also, he's related maybe a little too much to Harry since the fifth movie where he got blamed for everything going wrong and he had all those nightmares and didn't know what was wrong with him. 

Steve's hands gently roam over his stomach, tickling lightly. He strokes Bucky's chest and Bucky leans back into it, letting Steve explore his body and maybe feeling the stirrings of desire to do some exploring of his own.

He doesn't touch Steve just yet, though. He's trying to take things slow so as not to freak himself out and extinguish the flame, and he wants to relish his own desire and his newfound understanding of his body. Thinking about where he wants to be touched the most, what he likes. His body wants to move. He wants to tilt his head back and land kisses on Steve. He wants to start kissing more than just his face, he wants—

The spurt of heat in his crotch startles him out of it. He's wetting himself on Steve's lap and he's scared to move and he doesn't want Steve to stop holding him but he knows Steve will be able to feel it if he stays. Not that he won't give himself away if he lunges off of Steve's lap. He's frozen and the wetness is spreading in the padding under his ass and Steve can probably feel the warmth of it against his thighs now. It's too late to move, too late to hide it. He feels awkward and embarrassed and nothing close to sexy, not anymore.

Steve doesn't say anything, just tightens his hold on Bucky. He's not roaming his body with his fingers anymore, just holding him close, landing a light kiss against his head. Bucky slumps back against him, discouraged and hot in the face, but at least he knows he's safe. Steve's got him, he's gently rubbing his arm, just like they talked about in therapy, wordlessly letting him know he's still wanted. It doesn't make it any more pleasant to be helplessly pissing while he knows Steve can feel the heat still surging there, but he can at least breathe and know he won't be punished or flung away in disgust.

Steve begins stroking his hair and Bucky lets his head fall back onto Steve's shoulder. He wants to just melt there, and be held and loved forever and not have to acknowledge or deal with this. But Steve takes care of it, gracefully and with as much subtlety as possible.

"We should take a break when this movie's done," he says casually, "I want to make more popcorn."

"Okay," Bucky mutters, grateful. Snape's just announced that he's the Half-Blood Prince now. That's got to be close to the end. He wishes he could really feel the impact of the plot twist instead of focusing on his burning, horrible shame. He was so caught up in the movie and in being touched and allowing himself to feel sensual. He hates to admit it, but he should bring this up again with Nicole, because as much as this fucking sucks, he's probably stuck with this problem every day for the rest of his life. He doesn't want it ruining any more of his happiest moments, and that means he'll need to learn not to let it. He hasn't been able to do that on his own, so far.

But there's one silver lining to this awful moment, he realizes. He could never have sat on Steve's lap like this, before he was found out. He would have been terrified. Always hiding. There could never be spontaneous sex and he'd always have to be scared of Steve getting curious. Asking questions about why he had to go in another room to change clothes when they'd seen each other naked before. Why he kept slinking off to his bedroom, doing so much laundry, taking out so much trash. And whenever they were so much as sitting close by one another, he would never be able to relax.

He can sit on Steve's lap and let himself be held. 

When the movie draws to an end he slowly gets to his feet, grimacing at the soggy weight between his legs. He changes in his room, cleaning himself up with sanitary wipes and covering up the fresh diaper with a pair of soft pajama pants.

And when he comes back, Steve's waiting with a big bowl of popcorn and a blanket. He gestures, to indicate that Bucky's still welcome on his lap. Bucky gladly takes his seat there, and Steve tucks the blanket around both of them. He starts the next movie like nothing happened, gives Bucky a kiss on the ear, and offers him some popcorn.

He's amazed it can really just be no big deal. 

And, as a bonus, by the time everyone's arrived at the Weasley house, Steve's hand is roving back up Bucky's shirt. His body still has trouble making him hard, thanks to all he's been through, but he feels himself stir, just a bit, as Steve touches his chest.

He thinks of taking Steve's hand and moving it down, to show him. But the very thought of Steve's hand in his diaper makes him flush deeply and flag again, sickened. He's _not_ ready for that. Not yet. It's just—even if Steve swears he doesn't mind, Bucky can't help feeling like it's the least sexy thing in the world. And he can remember HYDRA hands touching him to change him, squeezing at the padding as handlers and technicians wrinkled their noses in disgust. With all his other issues with sex and cruelty, he can't be thinking of his diapers when he's trying to fuck. Can't be overly conscious of Steve's hand between his cock and the thick padding. Forget getting hard, he wouldn't be able to make it through that without vomiting.

But it's Steve. He can trust Steve, even with this. So maybe. Maybe someday he'll be able to let Steve reach down there like it's no big deal, and when that day comes maybe it really won't be. That won't be tonight, for sure, and not tomorrow or the day after that. But someday.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning, this chapter gets a little more...intense, and I'd like to make sure everyone stays safe. Gonna put more thorough warnings in the endnotes if you'd like to be prepared!

Bucky wakes up confused to a weird, flickering light. He jumps a little, but it's only the TV, and his head is on Steve's warm shoulder. Right. He and Steve were on the couch. They must have dozed off. His neck aches from leaning over, but he otherwise feels great. He hasn't had a nightmare, and he's huddled up against Steve, and he'd felt so happy and loved when he fell asleep.

He is wet, though. It doesn't bother him too much tonight. He's sleeping up against Steve, their legs overlapping, and that's another thing he'd have probably been too scared to do before. He'd be afraid that he'd leak, or that Steve would feel the rushing heat of an accident against his thigh. Or he'd be anxious over the nerve-wracking series of lies he'd have to tell to hide the reason he had to keep slinking off to his room. He doesn't have to worry about any of that now. 

As much as he doesn't want to get up, it's better to deal with this before his skin starts itching. He tries to move himself slowly and quietly away, but he's half on Steve's lap and they're both light sleepers. He hears Steve shifting on the couch behind him. "Hey, Buck."

"Hey," Bucky says softly, "I guess we fell asleep."

"We did." Steve runs his fingers over Bucky's arm. "Tonight was really nice."

"Yeah, it was." Bucky shuffles toward his bedroom, his wet diaper sagging now that he's up. The longer he stands here, the more uncomfortable he gets. 

"Hey, Buck?" Steve gestures silently towards his own room. "You want to stay with me tonight?"

Bucky hesitates. He wants to accept, and be held and loved on some more. He really, really wants it.

"I—" he begins. But Steve's already faltering, pulling back. 

"I didn't mean to push, Buck. You can take some space if you—"

"I want to!" Bucky mentally kicks himself. Steve's so flustered and upset with himself every time he thinks he's triggered Bucky or scared him somehow. "I'll be right there. I'm just gonna grab something from my room first." He can't hold eye contact. He's still not used to Steve knowing what he needs to go and do.

"Oh! Bucky, I'm sorry, I didn't realize—"

"Quit fucking apologizing, Steve," Bucky mutters, his face deeply hot, and beats a hasty retreat to change his soggy diaper.

Once he's dry and warm in Steve's bed, however, the shame and nerves have faded a great deal. Steve takes Bucky's waist and pulls him close. They meet in the middle of the bed and bump noses in the dark, trying to kiss, and then they both laugh at themselves a little and that makes everything easier. Steve cups Bucky's face and pulls him in closer and this time they do manage to kiss, deeply and slowly. Bucky presses himself up against Steve and Steve takes his waist again and heaves him up so that he's straddling Steve's hips. Bucky lets himself be pulled closer and closer and then they both freeze, acutely aware of themselves and their heat of their bodies pressed together.

All at once the tension bleeds from the room and they collapse against each other, breathless. Half-formed desires race through Bucky's head; to kiss at Steve's neck, get his hand up under his shirt, squeeze his ass and hear him moan. "Fuck, Steve. Why is good judgment so fucking hard?"

"I know," Steve sounds a little choked. "God, I want to—but soon, Buck. And we'll both be ready then, and it'll be fucking amazing. I wanna make sure it's good for you."

Bucky's sick of waiting and going slow and needing Steve to make sure he's safe. Right now he doesn't want to have to give a shit about any of that. He wants to lick Steve's nipples and suck his fucking dick, he wants to get _fucked_ already, and he doesn't want to have to think about therapy while he's doing it.

But he needs that therapeutic advice, he knows he does. Steve's right, they're not ready and it's because Bucky concealed his incontinence and now he has to deal with it. Hard life lessons _suck,_ and now he has to wait till they've worked out how they're going to handle it so he doesn't freak out during sex. He remembers his moment of panic at the idea of Steve touching his diaper and knows he really does need these safety restrictions. He's not ready to do this if he's not ready to handle Steve seeing all of him, until he can let himself _feel_  seen without fear. As shitty as it is to think about, a mid-sex accident could happen again, and he needs to be ready to face that.

"Fuck, I hate being responsible," he mumbles irritably. His face is burning hot.

"I know. But we're gonna take good care of ourselves." Steve's hand is winding slowly through his hair. The embarrassment and frustration build up in his chest, and he wants to lash out or yell or kick the wall. Scream that he doesn't  _want_ to need taking care of, and doesn't he already feel like enough of a failure?

Steve's hand is still stroking his hair, patient and steady. The wave of rage passes, and the embarrassment fades too. He lets himself be soothed and comforted, calm descending over him once more.

"You're so good to me," he murmurs eventually, and leans up to plant a kiss on Steve's cheek. Steve breathes out a slow sigh and wraps his arms around Bucky, and they settle in together.

It takes some getting used to, sharing a bed with Steve like they used to do in the old days. Steve's tried to allow him a lot of space since he moved into the apartment, giving him a room to call his own, never coming in without asking if it was okay. Bucky, for his part, let Steve keep believing he needed all that space, because it helped to keep the accidents a secret. For a while he's not sure he'll be able to sleep, pressed up against a mass of hot, sweaty super-soldier.  He twitches uncomfortably and tries not to disturb Steve, acutely aware of his every movement. He's hoping he won't have to go back to his own bed; he wants this, at least, to work out well.

And then their breathing hits a quiet, lulling rhythm, and Bucky thinks,  _okay._ And all at once his body remembers why he loved this, once. Although back then it would have been him curled around Steve, enveloping him, setting the rhythm for their breathing. Steve's chest presses lightly against his back with the rise of his breath. His heartbeat is steady.

He finds himself in the clutches of the usual nightmares a couple times, but Steve's there to pull him gently out, rubbing his back. "Bucky..." he whispers, and Bucky wakes, and he's warm and safe. No sprays of blood over his face, in his mouth. No pounding helplessly against the cryo tank, a sealed metal coffin. Just Steve, arm around him in the dark, having felt his racing heart and ragged breaths.

The second time, after spending some time calming down with his head on Steve's shoulder, he has to excuse himself to change again. "We should put some of your supplies in here," Steve says, flopping back onto his pillow, "So you don't have to keep running back and forth."

Bucky's face burns at the thought of changing a wet diaper in front of Steve. It's one thing for him to know, and another thing for him to witness the whole embarrassing process.

Then he reminds himself that Steve's already seen him piss himself and he doesn't care. He makes himself breathe again.

So maybe that's something he's not quite ready for. It's probably stupid to think of it as some monumental relationship milestone, first witnessing of a diaper change, but it'll take a lot of trust in Steve and security with himself. 

For now, he slinks off to his own room to get himself cleaned up. 

*

Bucky wakes up entangled in blankets, sunlight streaming directly into his eyeballs. "Unghhh," he protests, and rolls his face over into the pillow.

Steve is stirring beside him. "Wha time'zit?"

"I dunno," Bucky says into the pillow. Later than he usually sleeps, though. Nightmares and the need to change wet diapers usually drive him awake early on, and then he's too restless to get back to sleep. And Steve's a morning person himself—he gets up early to run almost every day. 

"I guess we both slept pretty heavy," Steve marvels. Bucky can hear him reaching for his phone to check the time. He pulls the pillow further over his head, resisting the waking-up noises; if his brain is going to let him rest well for once, he's not gonna tell it no. "Maybe I sleep better with you here."

That would register as a lot more warm fuzzies if he were allowed to sleep in before he heard it. He burrows deeper into the pillows with a "hnnngfff". He can feel the mattress dip and rise as Steve gets up, hears him moving around the room getting his pajamas off and clothes on. Bucky briefly considers spectating, perhaps letting out an appreciative whistle to make Steve blush, but opts to roll into the middle of the bed instead and pull the covers tighter around him.

"Going out for a run," Steve says. "I'll be back soon, all right?

"Mmkay." Bucky's eyes are already drifting shut again. He's hasn't slept this deeply since 1943, not counting the periods of forced cryo-sleep. This same-bed arrangement, he thinks, could work out pretty nicely.

*

The shooting pain he can ignore, plunging into him and into him again. It's nothing he hasn't endured before.

The Commander likes slapping and squeezing his ass, but he can ignore that kind of pain too. The problem is that it's making him a little bit hard, and  _that_  iswhat's making his stomach burningly sick. 

He isn't sure why his body is reacting like this, and he's putting all his effort into trying not to vomit as the Commander pulls him back to meet each thrust. He's well accustomed to being used in this way, but he's surrounded by the staring STRIKE team and they're all jeering and smirking at his body's glaring display. Remarking how he must like it rough and what a filthy little HYDRA fucktoy he is. 

"Look how cute he is, blushing like that," coos Mercer as the Soldier's cheeks burn in response to that last one, "You really love that, being our fucktoy, don't you, Soldier?"

He  _doesn't_ love it, and that's the worst thing, that's the source of the twisting shame threading in his guts and burning rage rising up in his throat. He thinks that he isn't supposed to love anything, that was Mercer's mistake, saying he must love this. She has brought him a moment of clarity and he can truly see the depths of his own aching misery now. Weapons don't love or hate but he hates this and he hates that his body is responding to it. He hates their rough animal humping and the feeling of his skin covered with their sticky come, drying and itching and reeking. He hates being on his knees for hours so they're bruised when he comes up, his thighs shaking with the strain of holding him in position. He hates their intrusions into him, the back of his throat and hard up his ass, again and again and again. Seeping into every part of him. Leaving him oozing semen, filthy and used and so tired.

The extent of this misery has at least made his cock flag pretty quick, like having ice water thrown over him would. He thinks in this moment he could rise up and destroy them all if he doesn't vomit all over the floor. The sick fury has made it to his mind and—

And the Commander's stopped thrusting abruptly as a splattering sound echoes against the floor.

The Soldier's mind whites out in horror.  _No, no no no—_

But there's hot piss running down his legs and he can't stop it and there's a sharp pain as the Commander jerks him up by the hair. He can only sit there shaking in his spreading pool of urine as they hiss at him how  _bad_ he's been and how they told him to hold it this time. The Commander flings him to the floor by his hair. He can hear them approaching and in terror his bowels, loosened and probed at mercilessly over the last hour, push and release their mess to add to the piss on the floor.

He sobs aloud and tries to repress it, knowing that crying will only make things worse. All thoughts of rising up against the STRIKE team are forgotten. His vision whites out again as he's kicked squarely in the face. His head snaps back, and—

—he lunges upright in bed, gasping. A bed, not a hard floor. Steve's room, sunlight  coming in softly through the curtains. He is wet with piss, but the mess is contained to the diaper between his legs and anyway, he's lying on the absorbent blanket he and Steve bought together.

The blanket turns out to have been a very fortunate investment when Bucky's stomach constricts and he abruptly vomits up bile in the bed.

When Steve gets home he finds Bucky sweating and shaking, on his knees by the toilet with his cheek resting on the cool porcelain seat.

"Oh, Buck, what happened?" his voice is so soft. The kindness and concern, the gentleness in his voice, are enough to bring tears to Bucky's eyes and he's crying before he can say a word. The shame of it all—being found like this, the memory of what he was reduced to fresh and vivid in his mind, the feeling lingering on his skin. The soaked diaper he still hasn't dealt with. It's all too much.

But Steve's warm arms are around him, steadying Bucky's trembling body and holding him up. They're both sticky with sweat, Bucky from dry-heaving and Steve from his run, but it doesn't matter. They'll shower this off. It doesn't feel like it'll ever be okay, but he knows from months of nightmares and panic attacks that it really will, in the end.

"I'm right here, Buck," Steve says in his ear. "I'm here with you, I've got you, you're safe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for graphic descriptions of rape and torture, as well as non-graphic mentions of feces and vomiting.Not tagging for scat as of right now because this work is not scatplay-related or scat kink and I don't really know what else to tag, but do be prepared for some mentions of it if you read on. I'll always try to drop warnings in the notes if a certain chapter needs some warning. Stay safe!
> 
> Sorry for not updating for a while, been busy and hella depressed. Haven't abandoned this story, though! Happy holidays to Miss OMOWatcher! Hope you continue to enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mentions of torture in this chapter. Take care of yourselves!

"Yesterday was so damn  _hopeful,_ " Bucky gripes into the phone. "It's like every time I manage to get a few steps ahead, my stupid brain has to kick me back down."

He's sitting crosslegged on his bed, twisting a blanket between his hands, phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear. It's hard to find any privacy living in a two-bedroom apartment, but Steve tries to allow it to Bucky as much as he can. He's gone out to get breakfast now, so Bucky doesn't have to whisper, though Bucky'd practically had to shove him out the door to convince him he'd be okay if he was left alone.

"That is the way it can feel," Nicole agrees. "And you have to keep reminding yourself that that's how recovery works. It is pretty discouraging, I bet, to experience such an intense setback when things seemed to be going so well."

"Yeah. I mean, I get that it's going to happen every so often. Just, you know. Why did it have to be  _now._ "

"It's actually possible there is a reason. You've told me your nightmares are rather frequent, but this one in particular has affected you very badly. Had you had any similar to this one before?"

"No." Bucky draws his knees up to his chest. "They—I mean, you know, they did that to me plenty of times before. Weird sex shit. Rape." It's still hard to say the word. But nothing compared to admitting the next part. "The—you know, I'd—fuck. I'd pissed myself a couple times before when they were doing it to me. And they were never too thrilled about it. This time, it wasn't the first. I think I was so freaked out that time because I was already scared of what they'd do to me. Because of...things they'd already done before." It was worst because this time he'd shit himself as well, but there was no way he can make himself say that out loud. He's already starting to feel sick again, and jumpy, like he wants to climb out of his own skin.

"Do you remember what they'd done to make you so afraid?" Nicole's voice is gentle, but he still tenses.

"Shoved my face in it like a goddamn dog," he mutters. "The first time. I—I think they'd told me I'd better hold it till they were done next time or they'd make me regret that they'd kept me alive. And, of course, beat me up and zapped me with stun batons and said I was disgusting and all that shit. Called me an animal. Fuck, I can't believe that I just let them do it. I mean. I can believe it. But I also can't."

"It wasn't your fault, Bucky." Nicole says firmly, and Bucky feels pathetically relieved to have it confirmed. "Can you repeat that for me?"

"It wasn't my fault," he mutters. She has him do this a lot, trying to change the way he naturally blames himself, hates himself, feels disgust and fear and shame. "They did all that shit. I didn't have a choice."

"Good, Bucky. Now, I think that all your recent breakthroughs, happening very rapidly all in a row, have possibly lead to the resurfacing of this memory. Of course, that's a painful fact of healing—often a lot of good progress, a lot of change, can unlock more traumas that need to be worked through."

"It fucking figures," he mutters, "Like I wasn't dealing with enough shit already."

"That's a frustrating part of it," she agrees, "It can come like an avalanche—you just push at the right spot and it all hits you at once. It's just a part of recovery. And this is recovery, Bucky, hard as it may be to believe when it's made you feel like this. You're facing it, dealing with it, and learning new ways to cope with these painful memories. And it's possible that's why your brain had to withhold this memory until now—it had to protect you from it, because you just weren't ready to face it. And now, after yesterday's therapy session and your recent discussions with Steve? Your brain knows you're ready to start dealing with it."

"I was asleep. I didn't fucking feel ready," Bucky says, "But yeah, I get what you mean." He sighs, and uncurls himself, stretching out his legs on the bed.

"Sometimes it has to get worse before it gets better. And I'm sure you're sick of hearing that, but it  _will_ get better. You've been putting off dealing with this, and probably stressing yourself out trying to hide it. But now that you're actively working on it, it will improve."

"I believe you," he says simply. He remembers what it was like when Steve first took him in. Dehydrating himself all day, throat scratchy and lips cracked. Trying to hide the nightmares, having paranoid episodes alongside most of his resurfacing memories. The constant anxiety that held him in its grip. He is better, now. And sometimes—like last night, waking up on the couch with Steve—he's even happy.

His phone buzzes, and he briefly takes it from his ear. It's a text from Steve:  _I've got some food. I'll walk around the block until you're done on the phone. Text me when I can come in._

He's so deeply grateful, in that moment, that he's had Steve's patience and kindness every step of the way. It doesn't make him any less humiliated, doesn't ease the tremors still fading from his body, but it's something to hold onto.

Nicole's talking again, and he quickly puts the phone back to his ear. "Are you feeling a little more steady now?"

"Yeah. I am. Although I'm still pretty afraid—I don't remember what the punishment was, aside from beating the shit out of me on the spot," he admits. "It's really hanging over me, but I'm not honestly sure I want to remember."

"It sounds like a lot to deal with," Nicole says, "And I think it'd be optimal if you didn't have to face that just now, while you're still processing everything else that you've just remembered. Although your trauma might not give you the option of choosing when to remember it. But of course it's your decision whether or not you want to try to bring that memory forth."

"Yeah, I'm not going looking for it," Bucky says, more certain now. It's hard to resist the urge to poke and prod at his brain for whatever new memories it's willing to give him. He knows most of them will only hurt, leave him sick and on his knees, but when there's a ghost of memory flitting around in his brain and he feels like maybe he could catch it, it's hard to resist the urge to try.

"Can you talk to me about how you're feeling now?" Nicole asks, "Mentally? And physically, are you feeling any residual illness or sensations from your nightmare?"

"Uh, more solid than I was. Not puking anymore. Mostly just feeling really shitty about myself right now. I just—I felt so pathetic. I'm still pathetic."

"Does that sound like a healthy way to talk about yourself?" she asks, reproachful.

"Fuck, fine. I feel pathetic and I'm trying to tell myself I'm not but it's hard to believe it."

"All right, there you go. It's a hard thing to overcome, try not to be too frustrated with yourself. What can you try telling yourself to help break that pattern of thought?"

Bucky sighs. They've got a whole bunch of these by now; Steve's always badgering him to list them off after he's had a setback. "I'm a human being. They tried to make me feel like less than a human being, but they shouldn't have. It—" he blinks hard, steadies his voice. "It wasn't my fault they hurt me. It's not my fault I'm sick now. Because I'm a person. And that's what happens to people when they—when they get tortured."

His voice breaks and he can't go on. The emotions caught him by surprise; a lot of the time he's exasperated as he recites these for Nicole or for Steve, and they've become so rote by now that he could rattle them off in his sleep. Every so often, though, he just gets hit hard by the impact of the words. He  _did_ feel less than human. They got him down that far. He groveled for them and took beatings for them and tried so, so hard to be good for them. 

He really was a person, under all of that. And people get sick from trauma. This, what's happening to him now, it's not shameful, it's not  _bad._ It's just human.

"Sometimes it's really important to hear that, isn't it?" Nicole asks gently.

"Yes." His voice is a little low and rough still.

"All right. I want you to say a few more to yourself throughout the day, all right? I'd like you to write them down and bring them in for me."

Ugh, homework. And probably that means more talking about this in his next therapy session. Delightful. "All right," he says grimly.

"Do you think you're all right now, or do you need to keep talking?"

"All right." His heart rate has steadied. The shame is less heavy now, and it surprises him just how much lighter he feels. Bu weird, too, like something's been pulled out from under him. It's terrifying to face how helpless he was, dragged along by stun baton-wielding handlers and bright sparks of electricity and the agony of his head being fried. By bloody cuts and orders and fear. If it wasn't his fault, then he really was that helpless, dragged along by a riptide through time, battered over and over. He gasps a little for air and then shoves the thought down. Not now. Too much. Too much for one day. "I'll be all right."

"And you'll call if you need anything else?"

"Yeah."

She has him do some breathing and grounding exercises before he gets off the phone, just so he'll remember he has them as options if he starts freaking out again, and then he finally texts Steve  _you can come back now._

Steve, mother hen that he is, has gotten a little bit of everything for breakfast. Coffees, cinnamon rolls, sausage sausage and egg sandwiches, and a large assortment of fruit. Did he carry this around and around the block the whole time Bucky was on the phone? But Bucky knows he needs to eat a lot now; he heaved up everything in his stomach earlier, and his super-soldier metabolism can't really afford to lose calories. He used to puke a lot more, before Nicole helped him practice all those techniques for subduing his panic. Steve bought him these high-calorie protein shakes for those episodes. He used to panic over those nutritional drinks, back before he had the diapers. He refused to drink during the day so his uncooperative, betraying body wouldn't release it as piss soon after, but if he wasn't replenishing the calories he'd lost, he'd get sicker and lose weight and Steve would worry over him. Steve had bought them for him, but he wouldn't—couldn't—drink them, except in the dead of night.

It doesn't matter now; he's been able to calm himself enough that his stomach will tolerate real food. He doesn't have to agonize over bodybuilder protein shakes when he can have cinnamon rolls, still just a little warm with icing oozing down the sides, and yogurt parfaits and Starbucks with a double espresso shot just the way he likes it. It's gone a little cool by now, but it's still caffeine and he still sucks it down like it's sweet, sweet oxygen.

It's definitely going to make him piss himself intermittently for about an hour later, and it sucks to know that with such certainty. In the early days he couldn't let himself have coffee, either. No caffeine; how could he have ever thought he could keep on living such a deprived life?

"So," Steve says carefully, "I was going to talk to you about seeing a doctor. Should that wait?"

Bucky's stomach briefly tenses up. "I guess. I'll tell you if I need to stop. But this doesn't mean I'm agreeing to go."

Steve looks like he's about to push it, but thankfully he just says, "I talked to Tony—I didn't tell him why you needed a doctor, Bucky, I just said I needed to get in contact with some medical professionals from his team. He told me he'd get me in touch. You don't have to go if you don't want to. I told you, it doesn't matter to me if this never goes away." He rests his hand on Bucky's shoulder, "It's up to you."

Bucky takes a slow sip of his coffee while he considers. He'd be willing to try anything to stop his body from betraying him, but what if they can't fix it? What if he goes through all the humiliation of whatever the doctors are going to do to him, all for nothing—and what do doctors do, to find out why a man's bladder won't hold on to its contents? Bucky thinks it might possibly be even more degrading than the shit the STRIKE team used to do to him after missions.

"I'll think about it," he allows, his stomach tense.

"All right, Buck. Tony also invited us to lunch at the Tower later, if you want to go. He can be a lot to deal with, but everyone else is all right. They've been curious to meet you for a while now."

Bucky considers, wondering how much Steve's told them about him. Up till recently he hasn't left the apartment much without Steve, or met with anyone other than Sam. He's not sure he knows how to interact with people anymore, when he's not playing some role for HYDRA. But Steve's eyes are so hopeful. Bucky's been kind of scared to meet his friends, stupid as that seems—as the Soldier, he prided himself on his prowess in the field, his capabilities in undercover work, the flexibility of his talents. But he's so broken now, and he's still struggling to pride himself on non-Soldier things because that's all he knew for so long, and what if he can't measure up to the Avengers? What if Steve's newfound little family (he'd never admit that's what they are to him, but Bucky can read him like a book) sees how pathetic and needy he is now and they think,  _THAT'S the legendary Winter Soldier? Look at him, he can barely keep from—)_

Bucky cuts off this train of thought. Nicole would tell him that's what he thinks of himself, not what others would think of him, because he's paranoid and wildly self-loathing and because that's the kind of shit that HYDRA would have said to him. But it's hard to believe the STRIKE agents weren't just speaking truths that kinder people would be too polite to say out loud. "Who's going to be there?" he asks carefully.

"We're not sure," Steve says gently, "Tony and Pepper, for sure, and probably Bruce and Rhodey. But I'm not sure who can make it and who can't. Could be just a handful of people, could be a lot. You okay with that? I'd stay right by you until you settled in a bit."

It might be nice, Bucky considers suddenly, to focus on making progress in an area that doesn't involve his incontinence or his sex issues. "All right," he says, "I'll come meet them. And Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For doing all this stuff for me."

Steve smiles and gives his hand a squeeze. He gets a light little kiss on the forehead and he can't help but smile. "Of course, Bucky." 

Bucky returns the kiss, a wet sloppy one on Steve's cheek, and Steve gives him a wet willy, and soon they're wrestling and playfighting like when they were kids, and Bucky's trying too hard to avoid being tickled to worry about what a socially anxious wreck he might be later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I take forever to update. That's...probably going to be a constant with me, if we're being honest. *shrug* depression's a bitch.


End file.
